Page 19 of Obsessive Love
“What do you mean?” she asked, continuing to work.
“Why are you on the floor?” If she said she disliked it, everything would be replaced by the end of the week. I don’t care how much I had to pay Zane to make it happen. “Is it not alright?”
“Huh?” she kept scribbling on the sketch pad in her lap, barely paying me attention. I bent down, grabbed the coloring pencil from her hand, and she quickly jumped up. Her eyes had a fire in them that had my dick bricking up. “What is your problem?”
“I asked you a question,” I replied. “Now answer me.”
“What was your question, Pyrite?” she replied with a slight attitude. “I was busy working on something and didn’t hear you.”
“Why are you on the floor?” I repeated and pointed to the bed. “The shit is brand new, no one else has laid on it.”
Fable looked at me and then at the bed before returning her attention to me.
She blinked slowly as she looked me over before shaking her head and sitting back down.
Once she settled, she put her hand out, palm up, and motioned for me to put something in it.
Instinctively, my dick got hard, and I thought about sitting my dick right in her shit.
“Give me my damn pencil back,” she finally said when I didn’t move.
“You are worried about a damn bed, and I’m over here trying to plan my great fucking escape. ”
“Girl, yo ass ain’t escaping shit,” I said as I put the color pencil in her hand and shook my head. “You might as well squash that damn dream.”
“Or so you think,” she laughed and started coloring in whatever she was drawing. “I am no one’s captive.”
“If you say so,” I said, looking down at her.
“I know so,” she countered with a smirk. “Now, why are you here?”
“Cuz I own this house,” I said as I sat beside her on the floor. I put the fruit bowl between us, then reached over and picked up one of her notebooks. I don’t know what I expected, but a detailed picture of a dipped cookie and the recipe wasn’t it. “What is this?”
Fable’s attention was on the notebook in her lap, but at the sound of my voice, she looked over at what I was showing her. She bit into her bottom lip before shrugging and returning to her notebook. “I was thinking of a new cookie, but I doubt it will work.”
“Why?” I started flipping through the notebook, and on damn near every page was a different sketch and recipe. “All this looks good.”
“It has citrus in it,” she mumbled.
I picked up a slice of peach and took a bite. “You could substitute the fruit, right?”
“I could, but it wouldn’t be right,” she answered with a shake of her head. “When I think of a recipe, I have everything in mind to make it. I won't substitute something because, in my mind, it won't be right.”
“So this recipe is no good?”
“The entire notebook,” she answered as she flipped the page in the notebook she was using. “That entire notebook has citrus or honey recipes.” She cut her eyes at me and smirked. “I may not like you, but I won't put your life in danger.”
“Damn, that may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I chuckled.
“But just so you know, my allergy isn’t that bad.
I usually break out in hives and get an itchy throat if I eat something I’m not supposed to.
” I continued flipping through the notebook, surprised at how quickly it had filled up.
“When you asked me for the notebooks this morning, was this what you had in mind for them?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “I already planned to talk to you about adding Story Time to your spaces somehow.”
“Cool.” I laid back, put my hands behind my head, and looked at the ceiling. “So tell me your full plan because I know you ain’t just stopping at having your name linked to mine.”
“My name will never be linked to yours,” she sighed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you legally own Story Time, right?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “But that shit is yours. I don’t know anything about this. I’m following your lead.”
“Don’t give me permission to be in control, Pyrite,” she said, using my own words against me.
I chuckled lowly and nodded. “Alright, you got it; now tell me your ideas.”
“What makes you think I have ideas? I could just be winging this entire thing.”
“Yeah, alright, keep lying and see what happens.” I moved one of my hands from behind my head, put it under my shirt, and rubbed my stomach. “Tell me that shit.”
“I gave you the basics earlier with your family,” she said while coloring in her picture. “Each starting player for each team will have their own dessert. They can decide what they want; we will sit down, go over the basics, then do a custom order and design.”
“That’s a lot of players and egos,” I mentioned, and she shrugged.
There was no doubt in my mind that Fable could and would handle all the egos that came with dealing with professional athletes, but I was going to make it clear that no disrespect would be tolerated, especially from the Kings players.
I’d kill each and every one of them if they got disrespectful with Fable. “Tell me how you plan to market them.”
“As a player special,” she answered. “You have a photographer, right?” I nodded.
I didn’t, but I knew I could call Sunday Rollins in for a personal favor with no problem.
“We’ll do a photoshoot of everyone in the kitchen.
The players, no matter the sport, will each get one.
It’ll probably take a few days, if not a week, but it’ll be worth it. ”
“I’ll make it happen,” I said, then yawned and closed my eyes. “What else do you need?”